Plane
by Stephane Richer
Summary: even only 24 hours under your touch you know I need you so much and I cannot wait to call you


Plane

Disclaimer: I don't own Fujimaki Tadatoshi's _Kuroko no Basuke _or Jason Mraz's "Plane".

* * *

Aomine squeezes Kise's hand and the other one grabs his duffel bag. Kise protests weakly and he can definitely carry his own bag but still. Aomine knows he's very pleased. It doesn't take much to charm Kise, something that's always been true of the blonde. It's especially true when Aomine does it, which of course pleases him to no end. So really, Aomine carrying the bag is a simple gesture that makes both of them so crazy-happy. Kise leans against Aomine's shoulder and sighs. He's already tired and he hasn't even gotten on the train yet but it's hard for him to sleep when he's here.

It's hard for him to sleep when he doesn't know when the next time he will see Aomine is. Will it be in three weeks? Three months? More? Hearing his voice on the phone, seeing his face through a computer screen, reading an e-mail—it's not the same. But it can't be helped; they don't live anywhere near one another and what with school, basketball, and Kise's job they never have time.

On one hand, it's great that Kise's finally found someone who he loves, who he wants to be in a relationship with that isn't demanding all of his time and totally understands his busy schedule. On the other hand, now he gets what all of his exes meant when they yelled at him on the phone and slammed their receivers (well, those who were using landlines did—the main advantage to cell phones is that no one can hang up on you forcefully, although that could be a disadvantage if you are trying to get a point across) and broke up with him because he was never available. He's still never available, but he finds himself wishing he was, wanting to walk out of the photo shoot because he doesn't want to clutch the hand of the other model next to him, he just wants to clutch Aomine's hand. Or he'll be playing basketball, but it's not as much fun if it's not with Aomine. It's kind of boring, almost. He's already copied everyone else's moves, has studied them enough. He can never get enough of watching the graceful way Aomine moves.

So they stand on the platform together and Kise buries his face in Aomine's chest and breathes in his scent, which will not last long enough at all, will vanish with the wind not five minutes into the terrible train ride that lies ahead.

"Come with me, Aominecchi," Kise mumbles.

"Okay." Aomine grins. "What's a day of school here and there?"

Kise really should scold Aomine here or say he was just kidding, but his own selfish desires take precedent and it's not like Aomine wouldn't be skipping school, anyway.

But the smile fades because neither of them has any money and Kise left his credit card at his house and they can't get an extra ticket now. The train pulls in and Aomine shoves his tongue down Kise's throat and Kise wants to stay there forever and fuck the train, he can stay with Aomine and miss school but his grades suck already and he can't flake out on a job and he has one tomorrow afternoon so he pulls away eventually and gets on the train, watching out the window until the train pulls away, too, and he can't see Aomine or the platform at all anymore.

Kise hates the way things are. He stares out the window at the passing trees and highways and swamps, and it's all awful the way it piles up, everything that lies between him and Aomine growing exponentially as the train accelerates.

He still can't sleep. He's too fitful and the ride's not smooth enough. His agent will yell at him tomorrow for how dark the circles under his eyes will be, but oh, well. Sleeping alone is difficult; all it takes is one night with Aomine and he needs those arms around him so badly. He's like a drug addict, craving one thing, one man.

He pulls out his phone and dials the number, has memorized it long ago. It rings once. Aomine never picks up on the first ring; he likes to pretend he's such a cool guy. It rings again. He should pick up the next one; he doesn't like to do it on the second ring, either, unless it's been way too long since they've seen one another and he's getting really desperate. The third ring is cut off in the middle.

"Ryouta."

Kise breathes deeply.

"Everything okay?"

"Just wanted to hear your voice."

"Dumbass," Aomine replies. "I sent you a voicemail the other day."

He did. But there's nothing that compares to a real conversation. There's nothing that assuages Kise's fear as much. He's afraid something will happen, that a car will hit Aomine or some similar terrible accident will occur and he won't be there, he won't get there in time. It's irrational, he knows, but he worries, anyway. He knows Aomine has fast reflexes, knows he pays attention when he crosses the street, worries anyway.

"I love you."

"Love you too, idiot." He lets Kise hang up first this time. There's no receiver, just a button below the screen. He presses it.

Kise stares at the back of the seat in front of him, leans his arm forward, and rests his head on his arm on top of the seat. It's not a comfortable or sustainable position, but it'll do for now. No one can see the anguish in his face. He's a model; he should always smile and be happy but right now he feels lonely and helpless and angry so he hides it from the world. He tries to focus his mind on basketball, but it does no good. He tries again, this time recites in his head the NBA career blocks leaders from top down until he's unsure. Hakeem Olajuwon, Dikembe Mutombo…who's next? Kareem? Definitely Kareem. Thinking about this clears his head a little bit (not as much as he'd like, however) and stops the tears that threaten to fall from his eyelashes. He'll see Aomine soon. It's nothing to cry over.

Still, he glances backward out the window once more, although there is no one waving at him.


End file.
